Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Henry
A gentle offshore breeze blew through the cemetery, carrying the faint scent of salt and fresh earth. The sky was turning to dusk, streaks of orange dissolving into violet as the sun dipped low. Despite the bustle of the city beyond these walls, in here it was quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the seagulls seemed to keep their distance.
I stood beside a stranger’s grave, staring down at the name etched into marble.
Lisa Ames.
I didn’t know who she was. I hadn’t even bothered to look her up. Her stone just happened to offer the perfect line of sight to Alexei Volkov’s final resting place several yards away.
I’d spent the past several days observing Mikhail Volkov. Watching from a distance. Mapping his routine.
If I was going to approach the Pakhan of the Miami Bratva, I had to be smart about it. I couldn’t go guns blazing into his home or any of his places of business, legitimate or otherwise, even with the leverage Blake found.
I needed somewhere Mikhail wouldn’t expect it. Somewhere he wasn’t surrounded by his ever-present security detail.
That didn’t leave me with many options. After narrowing it down between approaching him during early morning church service, his daily trip to the Russian bathhouse, or his evening visit to the cemetery, I chose the cemetery.
It was the only place where my presence wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. Even better, he refused to allow his guards to accompany him, making them wait outside the gates.
It wouldn’t stop them from coming inside if needed, but I couldn’t put this off another day.
I’d already waited long enough.
I needed answers.
Needed to follow the one lead I had left.
And that started with Mikhail Volkov.
I discreetly checked my watch. One minute to six. He’d be here any second now.
As if on cue, the low purr of an engine cut through the silence mere seconds later. I stole a quick glance toward the gates as a black Mercedes rolled to a stop.
Two men stepped out first, scanning the perimeter with mechanical precision before opening the rear door.
Then he emerged.
Mikhail Volkov wasn’t just tall. He was imposing in a way that had nothing to do with his size but because of the power he possessed. He wore black from collar to boots, his suit perfectly tailored to fit his frame. His movements were unhurried. Controlled.
Like a man who had never rushed a single decision in his life.
Smoothing a hand down his jacket, he started up the curved path, his attention focused on his father’s ornate mausoleum that seemed to be the centerpiece of the cemetery.
I shifted my gaze toward the simple gravestone in front of me, pretending to be paying my respects to a loved one. Even when Mikhail reached his father’s grave and bowed his head, I didn’t immediately approach him.
I let him pay his respects. All while I mentally prepared myself for what I was about to do. It was a risk. But it was one I had to take.
So after several moments, I moved toward the walkway. But at the last second, I turned toward him, reaching into my pocket and retrieving one of the many photos Blake pulled from the security feed.
Sensing my approach, Mikhail snapped his head up. The gun was in his hand before I fully registered the motion, the barrel pointed directly at my chest.
“I’m not armed,” I announced quickly, holding up my hands so he could see.
The photo slipped from my fingers and fluttered to the ground between us. He stared at it for a beat before returning his gaze to me.
Up close, his eyes were darker than I’d expected. Cold. Calculating. The eyes of a man who’d order someone’s death with the same ambivalence he did his morning coffee.
“Who are you?” he demanded, tightening his grip on the gun. “And how did you get this?”
“My name is Henry Fontaine. I own a cybersecurity firm. In other words, I’m an expert at finding digital files people think or claim are gone.
Like the video from the port the night your father was killed.
I thought you should know the truth. As you can see, Los Reyes del Puerto wasn’t responsible. ”
He glowered at the photo by his feet for several long moments, his jaw tightening and nostrils flaring in rage.
“Pick it up,” he ordered, nodding at the photo.
I crouched slowly, keeping my eyes trained on him and my hands where he could see them. Then I handed it to him.
“It’s a still from the port security footage,” I explained.
“They said it was corrupted,” Mikhail argued.
“It wasn’t.”
He studied the image of Nikolai Volkov pointing a gun at Alexei, his own guards holding him in place.
“I have the full video, too. You’ll find that no members of Los Reyes are visible for even a second prior to the shooting.”
His expression didn’t waver, but something shifted behind his eyes. Something dark and unforgiving.
“Why should I believe you? You admitted you’re some sort of hacker. You could have manipulated these photos.”
“I prefer the term cybersecurity expert. And I have no reason to lie to you. I think the reason you’re so upset is because I just confirmed something you’ve suspected all along but couldn’t prove… Until now.”
He advanced on me, but I didn’t back up. “Why are you here? Why are you giving me this?”
I shrugged nonchalantly. “Because I need some information from you.”
“Information? What kind of information?”
“About your…association with Victor Kane.”
He loosened his grip on his gun, the nozzle no longer pointed directly at me. “My organization no longer has any sort of relationship with Victor Kane. We cut ties years ago. After my father’s death, in fact.”
I arched a single brow. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course, I am. I didn’t agree with Victor’s…business practices.”
“You mean selling women,” I responded.
He gave a slight nod. “Exactly.”
“It seems not everyone in your organization got the memo.”
I started to reach into my coat pocket once more, but he snapped his gun back up, this time aiming it directly at my forehead.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Do you want to get it?” I offered. “It’s another photo. My left coat pocket.”
He held the gun steady with one hand as he stepped close enough so I could smell leather and expensive cologne, along with something metallic beneath it. He reached into my coat and removed the second photo himself.
“That was taken several weeks ago at an art gallery in Miami. That’s Victor Kane getting into a car with your uncle, Nikolai.
The following day, a man attempted to abduct Victor’s wife, Ariana, from their home while Victor was conveniently away on business.
I confiscated this man’s burner phone and, based on what I uncovered, Victor Kane had hired him, seemingly through your uncle, to abduct her. ”
Mikhail didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Then he pressed the gun against my forehead, cold metal kissing my skin.
For a moment, the wind died completely, and I fully braced myself for Mikhail to pull the trigger. The only thing I had going for me was that I’d given him proof of what really happened the night of his father’s death. I just hoped it was enough.
“If you’re trying to manipulate me,” he finally said, his voice a low growl, “I will kill you. And I will make it slow.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate you. All these photos are real.”
His gaze searched mine for any sort of deception. When he didn’t find any, he stepped back, but still kept his gun aimed at me.
“What does this have to do with you? What do you get out of it?”
“I believe the same man who tried to take Ariana Kane also took my daughter several months ago. I’d been led to believe she’d killed herself at one of Victor Kane’s hotels, but information has recently come to light that she may still be alive.
As much as I hate to admit it, you’re my last hope in trying to find her.
Or your uncle is. I just need to know about the nature of his business with Victor. And I’m hoping you’ll help me.”
“Like I said… My association with Victor Kane ended when my father passed,” he reiterated. “I’d made sure of it.”
“Yours may have. But it appears your uncle didn’t get the memo.”
His jaw ticked, his turmoil clear in his expression.
“If you’re wrong about this,” he hissed, pointing his weapon back at my forehead, “I will put a bullet in you.”
“I’m not wrong,” I said with all the confidence I could muster.
“We’ll see about that.” He gestured toward the pathway. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“You didn’t think you could come at me with this and expect me to let you walk away. Until I get some answers, I’ll be keeping a close eye on you, Mr. Fontaine. So start walking.”
I hesitated for a beat, a voice in my head warning me this was a bad idea. But I needed answers.
And Mikhail Volkov was my only hope of getting them.
So I did as he said and started walking, praying this wasn’t the last time I’d ever feel the sun on my face.